


Reel Me In And Stay

by hostagesfic



Series: One Direction Rare(r) Pair Gifting 2012/13 [5]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Domestic, Eating Disorders, M/M, implied - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:16:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The way they don’t even need words is as solid proof as they’ll ever muster that this is them at their most comfortable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reel Me In And Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trivialidades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trivialidades/gifts).



> Warning for short discussion of implied ED, or at least, concern over the implication of an ED. Many thanks to Num for Urdu help. For the prompt “Danny/Zayn: domestic fic with some appearances of Ant” over at the [Rare(r) Pair Gifting](http://hostagesfic.livejournal.com/3524.html). We’re aware that we didn’t exactly follow the prompt, but we did add sex! So maybe that helps make up for it?

“ 'm glad," Danny says, a low rumble, a soft shifting of Zayn's feather hair with his breath. 

Zayn curls his fingers up against Danny's abs, presses his cold foot to the skinny but soft back of Danny's calf and says, "f'what?"

Danny's hand feels so solid against the small of his back that he can't even move when Danny says, "you gained a little weight."

They both know what he's not saying: that Danny was worried. That Danny is always a little worried over Zayn, in a quiet way that doesn't fuss, but will drive itself mad with caring.

“'s what I get, having mums over," Zayn shrugs, looks down at his stomach absentmindedly. "I mean, it's not- 's it too much?"

Danny moves like a mountain, like the earth exploding at its core in slow motion and pressing everything around it into some new shape. Now, it's with his hands at Zayn's hips, holding him so tenderly, holding him tight against himself and ducking his chin down to look at Zayn. "No," he says, slowly, deliberate. "Zayn." (And Zayn would say, "'s my name," but that- it's different, when Danny says it. Sounds different and tastes and _is_ something different, and Zayn's always liked that.) Danny reaches up and cradles Zayn's jaw in one hand, narrow graceful fingers cupping his cheek and his thumb petting Zayn's chin. "It's good. You know you'll lose it on tour."

"Prob'ly will," Zayn nods, and leans his head into Danny's hand, eyes falling closed. If there's one person around whom he can let his walls down, it's Danny- Danny, who's been there since before any of the other people that are so important to Zayn now, who would go to the end of the world for him- who is so solid and so loving and so protective that Zayn doesn't need to guard himself, can simply let Danny shelter him, instead.

"I'm going to ask you," Danny says, quiet. "This time, on tour. I'm going to call you every week an' ask if you're eating."

Zayn doesn't ask, _What if I lied?_ because they both know he couldn't if he tried. Instead, he nods minutely, "Okay," and cranes his neck to press a quick kiss to the corner of Danny's mouth. "I'll try."

Danny smiles, then, and it's slow, spreads across his mouth until he's showing teeth and bites his lips shut again. "Okay," he whispers. He's unable to keep his hand still at Zayn's hip, is moving it in slow circles up Zayn's side, tracing over ribs and then down to the soft bit above his hipbone and the elastic waistband of his boxers, and then down to his thigh, fingertips gentle against the light scattering of hair there. He's thinking about visiting, about how they've already planned two trips and he's going to buy tickets for a third because- because he wants to, and because he'd like to think that Zayn wants that, needs that.

"Jus' don't-" Zayn begins, smiles a little fondly at the memory of what had, at one point, made him throw a complete fit, "Don't do that thing where you like, tell Louis to force feed me or summat, yeah? I got sat on. It wasn't nice."

"Desperate times, desperate measures," Danny mumbles, and kisses Zayn, because it's not an argument, but he wants to keep it that way.

Zayn kisses Danny slowly, generously, and even though it’s been a while since they got to settle into each other and their house and this _thing_ that’s been theirs for so long, it’s easy to fall into rhythm, to play off of each other. 

Danny makes a pleased sound against Zayn’s mouth, presses his hand flat against the warmth of Zayn’s lower stomach, fingertips moving slightly, a promise. He doesn’t have to ask when to stop, backing out of their kiss just enough to lean their foreheads together, let them breathe for a moment. Zayn curls his fingers tighter in the loose folds of Danny’s shirt, nudges their noses together. 

The way they don’t even need words is as solid proof as they’ll ever muster that this is them at their most comfortable- they’re good at telling what the other wants or needs with a look or gesture, even after spending time away, and it’s no different now. All Danny needs is a glance from behind Zayn’s lashes to slide a hand over Zayn’s thigh, warm, and to squeeze him through his boxers, lips curling up when Zayn makes an appreciative sound.

Leaning back, Zayn looks at him, lazy-interested, eyes dark, and Danny just nods, _Yeah, let me._ Zayn exhales and rucks Danny’s tee up around his ribs, intent on getting his hands on skin, pressing a palm to Danny’s side and one to his chest, seeking out his heartbeat. 

Danny doesn’t think about how long it’s been, how much he wants of Zayn when he’s got him so close, just kisses his forehead, quick, and runs the heel of his palm down the shape of Zayn’s dick through his boxers. 

Zayn is always responsive- not necessarily vocal, as much as Danny likes his little grunts and breathy moans- arching his back and tilting his hips and exhaling heavily with Danny’s touch. Danny knows better than to tease for too long, or it’ll make Zayn grumpy; with his lips brushing the stubble peppered across Zayn’s jaw and cheeks, he slips his hand into Zayn’s boxers and wraps it around his half-hard cock, gives it a few slow, dry tugs and grins at the _oh_ Zayn doesn’t seem to notice falling from his lips, and then pulls away.

Danny hushes Zayn when he makes to protest, reaching into the nightstand drawer for the bottle of lube he knows Zayn keeps there. Zayn hums, understanding, and once Danny’s palm rubs at his dick again, slick, it slides easier. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and Danny twists his hand around the head of Zayn’s cock, ducks to graze his teeth over his adam’s apple when Zayn tips his head back, panting.

Danny knows, too, every trick that gets Zayn over the edge quickly, has even taught him some of his own. He knows that pressing Zayn’s prick up against his tummy and rubbing at the underside with his fingertips will make a few beads of precome sputter out into Zayn’s happy trail, and if he lets his hand wander lower, he can squeeze and thumb at Zayn’s balls, making him shudder and, if he keeps it up long enough, beg in hushed tones. Mostly he just keeps a steady rhythm, presses his thumb under the head and lets Zayn fall apart held close and safe.

Zayn lets himself go easy, no pretense of keeping up appearances or making impressions with Danny, just curling into him and biting down on his shoulder through his worn-out tee, coming stuttered over Danny’s fingers and exhaling deeply. 

Danny moves his hand away after a moment, gentle as he tucks Zayn’s cock against his hip and adjusts the elastic of his boxers. He wipes his fingers off on a fistful of sheet, the corner, that he quickly folds back and away from them, and pets at Zayn’s side until his breathing evens out. 

;

Zayn doesn’t wake up in an empty bed, which is awesome as it is, but even more so when he remembers that the warm body lined up with his is Danny’s. He scrunches his nose a little when Danny pecks his lips, but Danny pulls away and rolls his eyes, cards fingers through his hair. “Want brekkie?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, voice raspy and still asleep, and that makes him scrunch his nose up again, but Danny’s face is soft and his smile is fond and he just nods, eases out of bed. He’s careful not to pull the covers away from Zayn, and Zayn could kiss him, morning breath or not, for that, for the way he tucks the edge back in and waves at Zayn, a little _you’re good, stay there,_ gesture. “I’ll be back.”

By the time he’s back with a tray, Zayn’s sat up and blinked most of the sleep out of his eyes. The blinds are still drawn and the room is dark except for the narrow slivers of light at the edges. Danny sets the tray on his side of the bed and pulls back the curtain enough that Zayn can examine the tray’s contents but isn’t immediately blinded. There’s yoghurt and granola and strawberries, and Zayn can’t help finally going in for a deeper kiss, horrid breath be damned.

Danny tastes like the yoghurt and strawberries, tangy and freshly sweet, and he bites Zayn’s lower lip until he gasps, licks into his mouth like he doesn’t care that Zayn hasn’t brushed his teeth. When he pulls back, Zayn realizes he’s settled the tray on Zayn’s own lap, is motioning at it. “G’on, then.”

Zayn’s a few bites in before he speaks up- they’re comfortable in silence, Danny messing about on his phone and letting Zayn feed him strawberries as he chews his own mouthfuls, and it’s one of the calmest breakfasts Zayn’s had in months. “Nice change,” he says, and Danny looks up, “like, we usually got pastries and stuff like that at hotels. And tea in America is shit, no matter what kind you ask for.”

He picks up his mug and takes a sip of his tea as if to prove his point, hands it over to Danny. It’s green with jasmine, the kind that reminds him of his mum on late spring afternoons back in Bradford.

Danny sets down his phone to take it with both hands, sipping carefully before passing it back with a nod. “I’ll pick up another box for you t’take,” he says, “Gotta go out this afternoon anyway.”

Zayn nods and offers him another strawberry. They stay mostly quiet, passing the tea back and forth and laughing at things on Danny’s phone, until Zayn’s finished his breakfast and set his tray on the nightstand. He scoots close to Danny, kisses his cheek with a little smile and a muttered, _Shukria, jaan._

Danny grins, finds Zayn’s hand in the sheets and brushes his thumb over Zayn’s knuckles lightly. “‘d you sleep well?”

“I did, yeah,” Zayn nods, chews on his lip consideringly before pushing the sheets down his thighs and scooting down the bed a little, settling his head in Danny’s lap.

Danny doesn’t try to stop him, doesn’t ask what he’s doing, but he sifts his fingers through Zayn’s hair curiously, hunched a bit to watch his face. He probably thinks Zayn might go back to sleep just like this, and Zayn _has_ , before, but that’s not what he’s planning this time.

“Danny,” Zayn hums, twirling the drawstring of Danny’s sweats around his finger, “c’n I suck you?”

Danny’s fingers only tighten a little bit in Zayn’s fringe, and only for a second, and then they relax and he’s brushing the hair off of Zayn’s face gently. “If you want,” he nods, “I’m good though.” 

“Shut up,” Zayn smirks, presses his face into Danny’s side. “C’mon, yeah?” He moves properly between Danny’s legs, thumbs at his hipbones and kisses above his waistband, blinking up at him. He knows he’s not the best at this, and it doesn’t do much for him except for the way it’s so good for Danny, who’s watching Zayn intently.

“You’re okay like this?” Danny asks, shifting and rearranging pillows behind himself, one hand still warm and settled at the nape of Zayn’s neck. 

Zayn nods, slipping his fingertips under the waistband of Danny’s sweats and tapping his side for him to lift his bum off the bed, just enough to get the joggers halfway down Danny’s thighs. “Jus’ don’t like, lift your hips too much, yeah? Choking isn’t very sexy,” he mumbles, fists around Danny’s cock and kisses at the tip, just like that, looking up with a smile in his eyes.

“Think I c’n manage,” Danny agrees, and leans back on his elbows in the pillows, breathes out carefully. Zayn’s face still bears the creases of their shared sheets, and his mouth is strawberry red, and Danny’s stomach seizes up with fondness. He licks his own lips, says, “Fuck, Z.”

Zayn has to hover a little to let his smile fade, swipe his tongue across his lips before he can sink down on Danny’s dick properly, hand wrapped around the base and eyes closed in concentration. He bobs his head and savors Danny’s low grunts, slurps around the head just because he knows it’ll pull a string of curses from Danny. It does.

Danny slides his hand around to Zayn’s jaw, lifts him off so that he’s not choked when Danny shifts his legs, letting one fall open further around Zayn’s body, bending his other knee so he can press his foot into the mattress. It isn’t much to brace himself, but Zayn nips at his fingers, nosing the crease of his thigh impatiently. Danny takes another moment to thumb at Zayn’s lower lip, slick with spit, and then he wraps his fingers through Zayn’s on his dick. 

Once settled, Zayn sucks at the head of Danny’s cock again, shifts his fingers a little, pushing at Danny’s. They find a rhythm easily, fingers twisting and rubbing as Zayn presses the tip of his tongue to the slit, free hand spread on Danny’s inner thigh, smoothing over muscles.

“Zay-” Danny’s voice cuts out over his name, and he leans forward on his elbow, trying to keep his eyes on Zayn’s mouth. 

Zayn hums, ends up almost choking and laughing when Danny’s hips buck up involuntarily but pulls off smoothly enough, still stroking him even though Danny’s own hand is more like dead weight than any help. “So much f’that,” Zayn croaks, smiles up like Danny’s the sun itself, even falling apart like this.

“Sorry,” Danny says, rough, rubs his thumb at the side of Zayn’s hand like an apology. “I want- sorry.” Zayn watches his stomach tense up and he shakes his head as if to clear it, smiles down at Zayn, obviously making an effort, tightens their fingers together again. 

“What?” Zayn asks, anyway, hand still moving over Danny. “Jus’- c’mon, yeah?” He watches Danny as he sinks back down, only tears his eyes away when he starts bobbing his head in earnest again, cheeks hollowed.

And it’s easy, like that, for Danny to move his hand with Zayn’s, jerk himself off against Zayn’s velvet tongue to the visual of his huge eyes and sharp jaw. He curls forward when he comes, other arm coming off the bed to push Zayn back by the shoulder, squeezing their hands forward to cover the head of his dick and keep Zayn’s face clean. 

Zayn drops his head onto Danny’s thigh, cheek against warm skin, and watches him adoringly. He’s missed this more than he can explain, quiet and simple and safe. “Thanks,” he says, belatedly, pressing his lips to Danny’s leg. “For, y’know, not. On me.”

Danny snorts and nudges their tangled hands into the sheets for a bit-better-than-haphazard clean-up. He’s fallen back into the pile of pillows now, is watching the ceiling mostly, and glancing at the top of Zayn’s head when he can work up to it. “Yeah, s’nothin’,” he mumbles, _I know you._ “Thank you, was nice. Good. Better’n nice, really.” Because he does know Zayn, knows his insecurities and his need for approval, too.

“Good,” Zayn nods, pushes his knuckles against Danny’s hip affectionately and rolls off, settling at Danny’s side, clean hand tracing patterns in Danny’s tee. It’s quiet, for a minute, because they don’t need to say anything in companionable silence, don’t have to fill space with words when they’re in sync, anyway, chests rising and falling at the same time.

After a while, Danny makes a grumbly, content sound and shifts to pull Zayn closer to him, pulling the sheets up with one hand and wrapping his other arm around Zayn’s waist. He kisses Zayn’s forehead and sniffs at his hair- and it smells like his shampoo, which is nice. Zayn must’ve run out of his own, then, which means Danny’ll have to remember to pick up more when he goes out in the afternoon. “What d’you want, pyaare?” 

“Hmm?” Zayn nuzzles Danny’s chest, swipes his tongue over swollen lips. “‘m fine, just. Cuddles.”

Danny accepts it, doesn’t ask if he’s sure, which Zayn likes, and leans his head against Zayn’s, instead, curls that little bit closer in their sheets. “You’re going to fall asleep again.”

“What of it,” Zayn shrugs, pokes at Danny’s side. “D’you have anything better to do?”

“Not particularly,” Danny concedes. “I’ll go out later for- stuff. ‘s’ere anything you want?”

“Dunno,” Zayn hums. “Maybe I could go with?” He’s usually not a big fan of shopping, but going with Danny is bound to be fun, if not _normal_ , and. Zayn misses normal.

“‘f you want,” Danny agrees, shifts his shoulder. Zayn’s a little too bony to cuddle in one position for too long, at least _this_ position, and his arm is tingling. He can’t reach Zayn’s mouth like this, either. “C’mere,” he mutters, pulls at Zayn and shimmies down the bed, trying for something a little more conducive to napping and kissing.

Zayn doesn’t have to say he’s missed this- it’s clear in the way his mouth fits with Danny’s, the way they can kiss softly, aimlessly, until Zayn dozes off with his mouth brushing Danny’s chin.

Danny presses a tiny, final kiss to Zayn’s cheek, and closes his eyes. He lets his mental list; _tea, shampoo,_ drift away. 

Zayn’s always been at the top, anyhow, and the rest doesn’t matter so much.

**Author's Note:**

> * _Shukria, jaan_ \- thank you, life (term of endearment- like saying love)  
>  ** _pyaare_ \- pretty


End file.
